


What You Fear the Most

by Jazoriah



Series: Bits and Bobs - Harry Potter Ficlets [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Death, Extermination, Gen, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-14
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-14 23:31:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/842693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jazoriah/pseuds/Jazoriah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Have you ever wondered how it feels to be defined and driven by the fear of others?</p><p>These are the thoughts of an ordinary household boggart in the moments before its death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What You Fear the Most

In the dark, he undulated, flowing between walls, slaloming from existence to non-existence and back in a slow, contented slide. He felt the solitude like freedom and keened softly, unheard by any creature. The sound, or non-sound, reverberated through his haven.

The insubstantial thing had no name in the language of men. He lived unobserved and undefined, free from any need of identity. In his tightly bound sanctuary, he languished.

A soft, metallic _click_ sounded in the dark, and the roiling mass halted, drawing in on himself in confusion. One of the walls shifted, gliding ever so slightly outwards, on an angle, showing itself not to be a wall at all.

The door inched slowly outwards along the frame, coming to the very edge of the oaken wood. It stopped, still for a single heartbeat, and the massless non-thing quivered with fear and anticipation.

Then the door was thrown open and harsh light lanced into the small space, piercing into the creature and forcing the non-matter to shift and contort, solidifying into a new form, an unfamiliar form. Long legs unfolded from either side and a thousand colours bombarded him through his newborn eyes.

His change had occurred too fast for any human to observe, and he felt his entire being throb with the strain of tangible existence. Before him stood a strange, pale creature, shorter than his own many-legged form, and wide-eyed with fear.

Instinct reared up and the creature scuttled forward, snapping its pincers menacingly.

The intruder had to go. It had to leave. This form was wrong. He needed the dark, his dark. He needed the alone back. He needed to breathe, roll, flow.

The trespasser reared back, scrambling to pull a long piece of wood from the folds of its strange skin. Compelled by blind instinct, the spider-that-was-not-a-spider scuttled forward, and the intruder fell to the ground with a shout.

Its call was answered from elsewhere in the room, this voice higher – another bipedal creature with layers of coloured skins and a stick of wood pointed aggressively toward him. He turned his many eyes on it and immediately felt his legs draw in on themselves. The course hair on his body retreated and his skin shifted. A loud _crack_ sounded through the room and he found himself standing on two legs, level with the new creature.

He had no thought beyond sending these invaders away. They were in his space, in his _mind_ , and he bared his sharp fangs at her, feeling blood that did not flow settling in his stomach. But that was wrong. He was not meant for blood, or fangs, or stomachs. He was not meant to _be_.

The new creature lifted the little wooden stick and let out a strange call.

“Riddikulus!”

The not-thing blinked in confusion as his fangs slipped harmlessly out of his mouth, replaced by obtrusive buckteeth. He felt matter bleed out of his skull and solidify into two tall, fluffy ears. He shook his head, feeling even more wrong than before, and the foreign ears flapped comically around his pale face.

The intruders were standing taller than before, triumphant. Their lips spiked upwards, and a high, guffawing sound rent the relative quiet apart.

The not-thing felt the sound plunge into his body, curling around his unreal bones and unravelling them. It flowed into his skin and his veins and burned, building up a bizarre, vibrating energy. He could feel it in his ears that weren’t real and his brain that wasn’t his. He felt himself pull taught, stretched in every atom.

And so it was that the sound of laughter was cut off by a loud _crack_ , and the not-thing became no thing at all.

**Author's Note:**

> I always love those pieces that use the perspectives of characters you never really thought of as HAVING a perspective. 
> 
> What do you think? I know it's a bit weird, especially since I gave a metaphysical entity a gender, but it's experimental and I'd love to hear your feedback.


End file.
